


Rambling

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-03
Updated: 2006-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Hermione's diary entry after a rather enlightening and embarrassing evening





	Rambling

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and all characters, places, et al within are property of JK Rowling.  No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.  This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Notes: This is just a little bit more than a drabble, playing really.  I may continue, I may not.  I picture Hermione not as a complete idiot when drunk.  I see her as being more chatty than usual, perhaps giggly and more likely to do things she would never do, like curse and grope.  Devout thanks to Thevina, my gracious beta and mistress of wordcraft.  All mistakes are mine.  


* * *

From the Diary of Hermione J. Granger

March 31, 2000

 

I have had it!  I am so angry with Ron and Harry I could just.....just...I know some rather creative hexes that would come in handy right about now, involving both boys, their bits and...damn, I can't remember.

 

Perhaps Muggle super glue would suffice.

 

I am very drunk right now.  Luckily Quick Quotes Quills don't slur their words whilst writing.  It's all their fault.  I usually don't indulge in such juvenile frivolity, but given the way my week has gone, I thought it might be a good idea to unwind for a bit.  

 

Did I mention I'm very drunk?  And that I'm under my bed, since gravity and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment?  I never noticed how many dust bunnies I had before.

 

Anyway, this week has been dreadful.  There was a huge explosion at the lab at St. Mungo's.  It was simple potion brewing; how hard is it to brew Pepper-Up potion?  Apparently, one of the new trainees left his cauldron while he went to the loo; in the interim, the potion bubbled over and once it hit the open flame, BOOM!  Potion was dripping from the ceiling, as well as my hair and clothes.  If anyone deserved to be cursed, or even worse, fired, it was that idiot and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him so.  When he returned, I set him to work cleaning the lab-by hand.  I can now say I can somehow relate to Snape , which is terrifying to say the least.

 

To add insult to injury, as I was walking down the hall to my office, still dripping potion, whom do I pass but Draco Malfoy, who was visiting his father in the Spell Damage Ward.  Hope he brought a drool bucket.  Oh, that's not very nice of me, is it?  But that's beside the point. Malfoy, who was so much nicer when he was a weasel,  says, "Nice look, Granger" and smirks that annoying, although dead sexy, grin of his.  I managed to hex him as he was leaving.  His hair now alternates colors, Gryffindor crimson and gold.  Doesn't do anything for his complexion.

 

On the way home I decided to join the boys on their monthly carousing trip, which they call ‘the Weasley Men (Plus Harry) Take Over the World‘.  They only manage to take over the Leaky Cauldron's back room.  Sometimes the loo and the back alley depending on how debauched they get.  It's usually Ron, Harry and the twins; once in awhile Bill or Charlie show up.  Tonight it was just the four, who were well on their way by the time I got there.

 

They greeted me very nicely and proceeded to fill a glass for me.  Repeatedly.  

 

Ron has the bad habit of saying exactly what he thinks when he's drunk.  And he doesn't think much at all, obviously.  I should've known things were heading in a bad direction when he kept trying to put his arms around me and pouting when I shoved him off.

 

He proceeded to tell everyone just what he thought our relationship was.

 

There is no relationship, other than friendship, and that's questionable at this very moment.  Some snogging and one post-war celebratory shag do not a relationship make.  We just don't make a good couple; I have a list somewhere that explains exactly why.

 

As I was saying, Ron made a complete berk of himself.  He stood up before everyone and said that he was positive that I would come to my senses after I had gotten the ‘independent woman' phase out of my system and come crawling back to him in due time (like one of his hero-worshiping groupies, I imagine).  That we were meant to be together and when I felt the urge to settle down he would be there.  

 

What?

 

I'm surprised he wasn't beating his chest in an asinine macho display.  I don't know who he made sound more pathetic, me or him.  I suppose in his own mind it made him sound gallant, the hero who waited for his unrequited love.  What utter tripe.

 

I then told him that there was no relationship and that being independent wasn't a phase.  I also added that if he were capable of handling a real woman, he wouldn't feel the need to make idiotic drunken statements because it wouldn't be an issue.

 

It all went downhill from there.  The remarks were fired back and forth; we, after all, had the ease of debaters of long practice.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other boys watching us like a bunch of tennis fans.  

 

Then it degenerated into name calling.  Finally, Ron pointed a finger and me and claimed I was a frigid bitch.

 

I smiled, or rather smirked; I was and am still drunk, but I was aiming for a smirk, and said, "We'll just see about that."

 

I  walked over to Fred, sat in his lap and proceeded to kiss the daylights out of him.  It seemed like a good kiss.  There was lots of tongue involved and he began to rub my arse, which made me grind into his crotch, turning the whole thing into a lap dance.

 

I have to say that at one time, especially when I was infatuated with Ron, I thought of all the other Weasley brothers as carbon copies, cookies cut from the same batch of dough.  I thought Ron was the one who stood out, who was special.

 

As I ground myself into Fred Weasley, I realized I needed to change my opinion or at least expand the roster.  Ron didn't have anything as big as that in his pants.

 

When I felt my skirt being inched up my thighs I pulled back.  Fred was wearing a very lustful look, indeed, as well as most of my lipstick.  I cleared my throat, stood up, smoothed down my skirt and told the boys goodbye.  I then walked as dignified as I could out of the room.  But not before looking back.

 

George was laughing, nearly falling out of his chair.  Fred was shifting uncomfortably but smiling all the same.  Harry looked completely gobsmacked.  Which left Ron.  Who was gurgling, like he wanted to say something but could only come up with ‘Guh'. 

 

I Apparated home, because I didn't think I could walk and would rather face the risk of splinching than end up face down behind a trash bin somewhere.  

 

So now I'm here.  Under the bed.  By myself. 

 

Damn Ron.

 

And I'm still trying to figure out why I picked Fred.  I do like him.  He's the more calm of the twins, is funny, easy to be around,  and brilliant when it comes to inventing.  He also has a very nice arse.

 

Fuck.  Oh great, now I'm _cursing_.  It has to be all their fault, as I'm sure I was a very nice girl before I met them.

 

Maybe it was a Freudian thing, my subconscious trying to tell me that I really like Fred. In a non-platonic way.  Because I know I didn't wake up this morning thinking to myself, hmmm, I'd really like to dry-hump Fred Weasley at the local tonight.

 

And technically it wasn't so dry.  My knickers are still wet.  Damn Ron. 

 

And now if I really liked Fred I might've blown it because I'm sure he thinks I'm a total tart.  Or a tease.  Or that I'm using him to get back at ickle Ronniekins.

 

Which leads me back to being alone.  Under the bed.  With the dust bunnies.  And I'm really hoping I don't breathe this loud all the time.

 

So what do I do tomorrow?  I'm sure there are going to be some repercussions.  Sunday brunch at the Burrow will be loads of fun.  How was your weekend, Hermione?  Fine, Mrs. Weasley.  I've managed to totally alienate one of your sons and I molested another.  How are you?

 

Damn Ron.  If he had just kept his big gob shut, this never would've happened.

 

And now my head is pounding.  Er, no, the floor is pounding.  Make that the door.  Someone's at the door.

 

Maybe if I lay here they'll pretend I'm not home.  Or dead.  Even better.

 

Nope, that's definitely the sound of the door opening.  I knew I forgot something when I came in.  Locks and wards, stupid, stupid!

 

And they're walking towards the bedroom.  I really hope it's Harry.  I don't think I can deal with Ron or any other redhead at this point.

 

Oh shite, it's Fred.


End file.
